"I couldn't watch, it's too stressful!"
And other things people tell me about watching a Netflix series based on my life.
Three years ago, my calendar started to fill up with dozens of interviews with journalists from all over the world. My publicity team and I had several meetings about upcoming Zoom meetings that were scheduled to take place as a sort of virtual press tour for the Netflix series MAID, set to be released on October 1. My reason for involvement was that I was the “inspiration,” or the author who wrote the book the series was based on. I was the real person behind the main character Alex, and my voice shook as I answered questions on live television, staring at my laptop screen with my face next to Margaret Qualley’s, the actress who had filled that role.
To call this surreal would be a drastic understatement.
As the series began to top charts worldwide, all of this intensified in ways none of us involved in the project had anticipated. At the end of the month, an estimated 67 million households had watched the series. The Domestic Violence Hotline had received the most calls that October than any other month in their history. My social media numbers had grown by about 100,000, with the majority of those following me on Instagram. Every post was flooded with comments and I struggled to keep up with, well, everything. Of course I wanted to capitalize on the opportunity to advocate and maybe sell some books and become more widely known as an author and public speaker to elongate my career, but my little introverted heart coughed and wheezed through all of it.
The series has continued to find new viewers over the years. I get emails, comments, or am tagged in posts about it almost daily. Most of these are from women who have also been affected by the humiliation and feelings of powerlessness from domestic violence, or who have realized from watching the show that their relationship is, in fact, abusive. For most people who are still working to get through life after experiencing the trauma of violence from a person who is supposed to love you creates, just saying “I’m a survivor” is enough. When I hear them say this, I nod and give them a quiet smile, already knowing more about their life than most…just from them uttering a three-word sentence.
Sometimes, though, I get a lot of people telling me that they didn’t watch the series. Or that they couldn’t. Their reason for this is that it’s too stressful. I’m not talking about people who are triggered by the content, I empathize with that. The series was difficult for me to watch, too. I couldn’t watch the trailer without sobbing for two years. No, these are otherwise very privileged white people who tell me that they started the series and had to turn it off because it stressed them out too much. The irony of these statements is that they often say these things to me after I have just given a talk at a fundraiser for a local nonprofit that they attended and hopefully donated funds to.
My job at these events is to be a real person. When people tell me they couldn’t watch the series based on my life, I wonder how “real” of a person they can tolerate. I am, for all intents and purposes, there in a very “success story” type of way. On stage, it’s just me talking. There is no visual representation set to music in the ways the creators of the series brilliantly did. While the series was fictionalized, it was not dramatized in showing how emotional abuse and poverty affect a person with a young child to care for. Incredibly real emotions were captured and played out in ways a viewer cannot ignore or look away from. Well, I guess unless they turn it off and decide to stop watching.
On stage, I talk a lot about empathy. I talk about how stories that make us uncomfortable—either because of feeling helpless in not knowing what to do or recognizing our own privilege, inner racism, and judgements—are incredibly valuable. These are the moments where we can do inner work and ask ourselves why we feel this way. Why do I feel uncomfortable? is a very useful question.
When I first heard people telling me they had to turn the show off because it was too stressful for them to watch a single mom who is desperate to find safety, I wanted to stick my finger in their face and hiss at them to sit down and turn it back on. Causing a viewer who has never experienced poverty to feel how encompassing it is was one of the most important parts. If someone who has never had to worry about housing insecurity can feel just one heart-racing moment of what it’s like to have a floor disappear from underneath your feet, then maybe, just maybe, they will treat an unhoused neighbor in their community with a bit more compassion.
That’s been my dream, anyway.
I try not to take these comments too literally, or personally. Especially if they are saying to my face that a visual representation of my life was too stressful for them to watch from the comfort of their own home. I sometimes want to remind them that I lived that life for over a decade. I want to tell them that sometimes my body thinks I’m still there, and I have had to learn how to self-soothe through panic attacks and anxiety flares even though I don’t understand the reason for their sudden appearance. I want to gently suggest that if they’re going to do things like attend a luncheon in the middle of the work day and listen to people on stage talk about how the organization had helped them, that maybe it would be a good thing for them to educate themselves on the trauma that food and housing insecurity can create, and that it can last for generations.
I want to tell them to go home and watch the fucking show.
Until next time.
xo,
-step.
Thank you. More people need to watch the show. It’s like the people who say, “I’m not political.” Sending support! Your voice is sooo important.
Stephanie, I read your book and as I have said here before, your story is similar to mine in some ways, including being a writer. I want to watch your show and every time I start it triggers. You are an inspiration to so many women. Always remember that.